


Just as Perfect as the Day We Met

by plasma_in_ink



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Fluff, Fluffy, Other, Pen Pals, Rarepair, cross species romance, radio host love, snailmail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasma_in_ink/pseuds/plasma_in_ink
Summary: On a day like today ~We pass the time away ~Writing love letters in the sand ~~Two old souls do all but talk, in person, to each other, and something beautiful blooms.
Relationships: Marcus (Fallout)/Mr. New Vegas
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Just as Perfect as the Day We Met

Watching over his little settlement with the radio going was one of Marcus’s few pleasures in a hard-enough life. He’d heard a lot of people on the radio in his time – Tabitha, of course, hit the hardest emotionally, but this one… this Mr. New Vegas… had to be the best. He was always there, day and night, with some pleasant music and pleasanter words. Even a super mutant could feel special when Mr. New Vegas was talking to them through the radio.

Marcus knew it was stupid. He knew it for a fact. But, when he addressed his handwritten letter, handed it to a nice human who made running letters and goods to Jacobstown her business, and watched her race down into the desert below, he didn’t care. Stupid or no, across species or no, non-authentic or no, he just had to write in.

***

Since Marcus never left Jacobstown, he also had no idea what was going on in the world. Officially, he didn’t care – it was better this way. Isolation would save them. It would protect them.

But he did want to know the news, secretly. And it was relevant – human war could lap on the shores of his haven and all too easily destroy it yet again.

“… So that’s the news,” purred the voice in the radio, “but before I take you back to Sinatra’s dulcet tones, I wanted to say hello to a very special listener. This listener took the time and paper to write little old me and tell me how much they appreciated my humble station. Ahem…

Dear Mr. New Vegas,

Words cannot describe how thankful I am for your station. I’ve travelled to many places in my time, and listened to many radio stations, but you are the only one that really feels like company on the long desert nights. I sometimes feel like I’m walking a lonely road, a hard road, but listening to you makes it just a little easier. Thank you so much.”

Marcus sat up and stared at the radio as the letter, his letter, was read out loud for the whole Mojave to hear.

“It’s nice to be appreciated – and I’m sure he said what you are all thinking, too. You know I think the same about all of you, right?” the static of the radio felt full of meaning, “I can’t always put it to words, but that’s how I feel too. So, thank you Marcus – wherever you are, I hope that me… and Sinatra… can make you a little less lonely tonight.”

Marcus stared at the radio for a long moment. The next day, his courier friend took another letter to New Vegas, and he regretted nothing.

***  
“… But don’t make fun of a super mutant for taking the bunny slopes,” Mr. New Vegas joked on the radio, and Marcus’s face quirked into a smirk. It was a running joke in the town these days that super mutants were terrible at skiing, and that you’d better get out of the way… but in all honesty, once someone figured out how to make correctly sized skis, a few of the super mutants were actually getting halfway decent at it. Ironically, all of the _really_ good skiiers were actually second generation mutants – Marcus wondered if being ‘dumb-dumbs’ might actually help them. Maybe they were more in control of their bodies, even if they didn’t have much in the way of mind? Maybe they didn’t overthink everything about the slope? Who knew. Not even the Master knew, and he was dead besides.

“… though, if you head on up to Jacobstown, go ahead and say hello to my favorite listener for me! Now, you know you are all my favorites, but Marcus has a special place in my heart because he has, in total, sent me seven – count them, seven – letters to my humble little studio. A few of you have sent me letters over the years, and I love every one of them… but seven? I’m feeling a little spoiled, New Vegas! So, as it turns out, he’s the mayor of that snowy little place! Imagine that! I’m a busy host, working night and day for my dear listeners, but I might just head on out there to do a special show with him. I’ll keep you posted on how that might go, but in the meantime… Marcus, if you’re listening, this next song is for you.”

_On a day like today_

_We pass the time away_

_Writing love letters in the sand_

Marcus felt his breath catch in his throat as the song – a new one he hadn’t heard before – played over the radio. He hadn’t blushed in decades, but he felt one blooming at the implications.

“Nah,” he said to himself, returning to his boring clerical work – the doldrums of being a mayor – “That can’t be right.”

But still, he was smiling.

***

“So our friend Marcus, you remember him, he wrote me in the other day about a problem he’s having up in snowy ol’ Jacobstown…”

A ranger on duty laid back in her chair and sipped at their Nuka Cola, bored to tears at their post at Camp Guardian. They had a fantastic view of the Colorado, Lake Mead, and the blight that was the Legion camp, but absolutely fuck all was happening and that view got old mighty quick. If it weren’t for Mr. New Vegas, she thought, she’d probably have gone over herself and given those bullfuckers a piece of her mind. Fortunately, Mr. New Vegas was always there, keeping her from doing something foolheaded. He was a comfort in the day and in the night - – that voice of his was something comforting for sure.

“Seems that mercenaries come up on the regular to harass his little super mutant haven. He says they take potshots at anyone standing guard.”

Maybe she could write in like this Marcus fellow, let Mr. New Vegas know how she felt. And then maybe hear her name on the radio, too. Shame that was probably against regulations – writing a letter would sure eat up the time nicely up here, watching nothing, listening to strange-but-meaningless noises coming up from the caverns…

“’They’re trying to stir up trouble and get us to fight back so that they can come in and wipe us out without penalty.’ He claims. I have reports to support this, too actually – men and women in camouflage gear have been spotted hiking their way up Mount Charleston, and they aren’t going up to ski!”

The ranger took a long drag on her cigarette. “That ain’t right,” she said to herself. Bothering a bunch of peaceful folks like that, super mutants or no – sounded like raider bullshit to her.

“Rumor is that the mercenaries are being brought in by NCR bigwigs and rancher-barons,” the ranger nearly spat her cigarette out in shock, “but you didn’t hear that from me.”

It made perfect sense to the ranger, all of a sudden – raider bullshit indeed. She wasn’t stupid – sometimes the NCR acted like raiders-with-rules. They didn’t do right by their own, either, as the creepy tunnels had shown. “That ain’t right,” she said again, gritting her teeth as she looked back out over the lake. “That shit… ain’t right.

“Now,” the radio continued, “on to more news…”

***

Marcus didn’t know how he kept forgetting that his correspondence was letter-to-public radio show. Of course, his letters weren’t exactly scandalous, but still, sometimes he regretted sending them when Mr. New Vegas made his reply in his own way. After all, Marcus had wanted to _escape_ notice and create a sanctuary, not call attention to Jacobstown. And yet, pen went to paper and he told the radio host his problems, his secrets, his people’s needs.

“Mercs haven’t been coming by lately,” grunted one of his friends, a super mutant who had been with him since the Master – with his voice in their minds, they had become friends. Even without the voice inside them, they were still close. From Broken Hills to Jacobstown, they stayed friends.

“No, they haven’t… We still have to be careful, though.” Marcus said. He didn’t know if Mr. New Vegas’s little expose had had anything to do with the distinct lack of mercenaries or the influx in travelling merchants bringing desperately needed goods into the settlement.

“Lotta newcomers about,” his friend said, looking impassively at the new faces that walked by – super mutant and human both.

“Yeah.” Marcus regarded them with a mixture of hope and trepidation, “That’s why I said we have to be careful. Keep an eye out. A threat could come from within as well as without…” he dared a smile, “Still, good to see the place bustling.”

“Sure is.”

The music on the radio stopped and both turned to listen to the news. The whole settlement listened, now – mostly out of curiosity since few people cared about the letter part itself. Marcus supposed that made them a real settlement – independent of the world, yet a part of it.

“… a Mojave Express courier found shot in the head in Goodsprings has just made a full recovery. They and will be back to work soon, stating, and I quote, ‘Nothing stops the mail.’ Now that’s a delivery service you can count on. And now for a little more personal news for my dear listener Marcus… I’ll see you soon, darling. Now…”

Marcus stared at the radio as it played its old-world music once more.

_Tell me what’s in a kiss, if your heart’s not in it,_

“The hell do you think that means,” he asked, turning to his friend.

“No idea,” said his friend, “Hope it’s nothing bad.”

So did Marcus.

***

When the lone securitron with a soundwave icon on its screen rolled through the gates of Jacobstown and introduced itself to the Mayor of Jacobstown with a very familiar voice, Marcus found himself at a loss for words.

“I was expecting a lot of things,” Marcus managed to say, “but not this.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be able to give the Mojave 24 hours a day, 7 days a week of my time if I was a human with human needs,” Mr. New Vegas – apparently an AI and apparently much more than he would appear, “My listeners deserve the best, and I was programmed to be the best.”

“Pre-war?” Marcus shook his head, “Seems like they had better priorities than the ultimate radio host, no offense.”

Mr. New Vegas laughed, a rich, low laugh that almost sounded real. The way the robot moved even looked authentic, as if he was truly wracked with laughter. “Well, let me put it this way – someone wanted to see if attaching a brain to a supercomputer would let them stay the way they are. When that brain went and lost its humanity, they stuck a few more on, just to see how that would work out…”

“Oh yeah?” Marcus’s thoughts grew distant, casting back to someone _else_ who had lost His humanity, who had become _many people and none_.

“Oh yeah. Well, those extra brains didn’t help, but see, the idea then became to program an AI more human than human, more empathic than an empath. Human brains are _really_ good at the social interaction part of life, you know, and that’s what I was optimized for – just to see what happened.”

“I can guess who programmed you,” said Marcus, “If the rumors about the man that runs Vegas are correct.” The securitron body was a dead giveaway.

“You ain’t wrong, friend. Not the whole story, though. I have three human’s worth of brains, but I’m my own man, so to speak – I was made to be independent and neutral, to gather the news, give the news, and be a friend on the soundwaves to all. The brains… well, they aren’t much but I call ‘em my interns, and they handle things for me that I don’t have human agents for. But me? I make my decisions on my own.”

“So, why are you up here? Who knows about you being, uh…” Marcus gestured to the robotic body. By now, they had walked to the lodge where his ‘office’ was and where he could talk with some privacy.

“Well, there’s a few of my human agents who are in-the-know, so that’s 3. There’s the one that programmed me, of course – he loaned me this here body, so obviously… that’s 4. And now, you. That’s 5, my dear – a pretty exclusive club, if I say so myself.”

“I’m honored,” said Marcus, face carefully neutral. He wasn’t sure what this changed, or even if it mattered in the long run, but the thought that he had been communicating with a man who _didn’t exist_ was certainly startling.

“Oh no, Marcus,” Mr. New Vegas said emphatically, “ _I’m_ the one whos’ honored! Getting your letters has been a _highlight_ of my day… week, month, year… you know what I mean! I have an address, I let people know that they can write in, but you’ve been the only one who’s written me in upwards of a century! Since you’ve been writing in, though, a few other people were inspired and the sheer appreciation I’m feeling from my listeners… well, it’s sent me through the roof and _inspired me in turn._ I have so many ideas for my show to really make it pop, and that’s all because your letter went and woke me up. Your _letters._ ”

“Oh yeah?” Marcus leaned on his hand, “Ideas like what?”

“Well, I’m thinking that I’ll spice my program up with some interviews, deep dives, a little new music… People need the news, but there’s things they’ve got to _know._ As their radio host, I have an obligation to give them more news, more information, more stories to fill their day. Maybe,” the voice became low, sultry, maybe a little shy if Marcus was reading it right, “You have a few ideas for me?”

“Me?” Marcus raised an eyebrow, “I’m not exactly an idea guy.”

“Well, to be honest, I mostly just wanted to meet you and talk to you, but I thought I’d give you first crack at brainstorming my new show, just to give us some structure,” the robot _giggled_ , “Wouldn’t want to force you into a _date_ , would I?”

“A… a date, huh.” Marcus shook his head, “I can’t say I’ve been on one in…” he hesitated, old memories he thought were forgotten surfacing, of a beaming face in false sunlight in a Vault diner. “Ages.”

“I haven’t been on one in _ever_ that I recall,” said Mr. New Vegas, “wouldn’t consider it normally, but you, my friend Marcus,” he touched Marcus’s meaty hand with a metallic clasper, “You are a special case.”

“You’re pretty special yourself…” Marcus said, hesitating for a moment before putting his other hand over the clasper, warming it with his own body heat, “And I’d be glad to… do both.”

The soundwave icon turned up in a smile, and Marcus felt his heart warm against the chill of the ancient ski lodge.

***

“… Some people ask me if there’s a Mrs. New Vegas. Of course there is,” said the voice on the radio, making Marcus smile. He knew what was coming, and he – of course, after spending those special few nights in his mountain home – heard it differently.

“You’re her, and you’re still as perfect as they day we met.”

Marcus could debate with himself for hours about whether the Master’s way of being – many minds, many machines, all working as one - was unequivocally a good or bad thing. Usually, he settled on the Master and the Super Mutants as being works in progress, beyond humanity but not yet perfected.

_Maybe Mr. New Vegas was a little bit closer to that perfection_. Smiling as the music began to play, Marcus began a new letter, the envelope already addressed and ready to take it to New Vegas, and the pleasant company of the host of the radio.

It was something to strive towards, and Marcus always did his best.

**Author's Note:**

> The seventh of my attempts to create a few rarepair fics for Fallout New Vegas. My goal was to play with unusual pairings with the courier playing as little a role as possible.
> 
> Marcus is a fascinating character, and Mr. New Vegas has so much potential. I honestly wish that there were more quests associated with Marcus (and some actual quests for our beloved radio host.) I'm not sure why the ship came into my head, but I'm glad that it did - it's sweet and fluffy and lovely. As someone who writes letters to friends, a penpal-radio relationship is a really cute thing... and just what the wasteland needs.
> 
> My headcanon for the exact nature of Mr. New Vegas' AI is all me - there's so little about him that it's all open. At least his 'interns' are in much better shape than Nightvale's interns, right?
> 
> I also figured that Marcus, like many of the first-gen super mutants (the smart ones,) was probably a Vault-dweller initially. I don't know if he specifies it anywhere in FO2 or NV, but it makes the most sense.
> 
> The courier has no part in this fic at all - they pretty much just woke up, and maybe have made it to Primm by the time the fic ends. A great source of news for Mr. New Vegas, though!
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading... and keep an eye out for more rarepair works in the future!


End file.
